


Guilt and Family

by McRaider



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Brimel if you squint, Dani's there too!, Gen, Gil gets shot and Malcolm blames himself, Hurt/Comfort, JT can be supportive, JT was not born under a rock, Lashing Out, Mama Tarmel, Panic Attacks, ain't even sorry, because Malcolm is a hot mess, but a Malcolm and a Gil were, no matter what Malcolm thinks, no mirrors were harmed in the making of this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McRaider/pseuds/McRaider
Summary: When Gil is shot in the line of duty, it takes every ounce of control for Malcolm to remain upright, after the fact, he's not nearly as strong as he thought. But, as always, Gil is there.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 94





	Guilt and Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [batonblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/batonblue/gifts).



> Unadultered Gil and Malcolm father/son fluff. We just don't get enough of these two. The smallest hints at Brimel if you squint.

One minute Bright had been talking in one of his many manic moments, explaining every detail, the next minute his eyes had widened and he’d taken off running, hopping out of the car running toward the alley. Every cop instinct in Gil said that following, without backup much less, was a terrible plan. But every father instinct was driving his feet faster, slamming against the pavement one foot before the other propelling him forward after his kid.  
  
He muttered an annoyed curse under his breath as he felt sweat starting to form on his forehead and back, and then as suddenly as he started he felt, rather than ever saw, something painfully solid connect with his stomach. The air violently exited his lungs as he collapsed to his knees struggling to pull air in through his mouth and nose, anything. It felt like hitting a brick wall at 50 mph.   
  
His darkening vision cleared only enough to see a fuzzy figure standing before him with a gun held out and aimed directly at his forehead. He didn’t have time to process it, no time to think, one moment he was struggling to pull air into his lungs and the next moment he was staring down the barrel of a gun. He never actually heard the shot, and it took a moment for the pain to register, it wasn’t in his head, which he expected to be quick. The pain blossomed out over his chest and stomach, a smashing agony just below his breast bone.  
  
And then complete silence, as he lay on the filthy pavement in a dingy alley, waiting to join Jackie on the other side. His vision swam, his head was spinning everything felt distorted, he vaguely heard voices shouting around him, were those sirens? Suddenly he felt something hard pressing against his chest and he let out a sob of agony as he tried to twist away from it.  
  
Malcolm saw the man holding the gun up threatening Gil and jumped out of his hiding place to slam into the man, knowing the gun from aiming at Gil’s head to unfortunately his chest and abdomen. The gun went off with an ear-shattering pop and Malcolm didn’t hesitate to slam his fist into their perp’s jaw, instantly rendering the man unconscious.  
  
Malcolm scrambled towards Gil’s side, “Gil!” he gasped, “HELP! I NEED HELP!” he yelled as loud as he could while still gasping for air. He heard the rest of the force arriving on the scene, but his eyes were focused solely on the man struggling to pull air into his lungs on the ground. The familiar mouth that had once chastised him for acting without thinking was now opening and closing like a fish out of water. A red bloom across his chest like someone had poured paint on his white shirt. All the while Malcolm sat there, every moment of training gone, every singular thought about next steps were out his mind as he stared helplessly at the man who’d been a father to him for the past twenty years.  
  
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but likely was only seconds, his brain kicked back on into high gear, tearing off his expensive scarf, he balled it up and pressed it into the wound that was rapidly spreading blood across Gil’s chest and stomach. “Hold on, Gil I’m right here,” Malcolm’s whole body shook with fear and effort. The world shrank down to the man lying on the ground.   
  
While he physically tried to maintain his focus on Gil, his mind was elsewhere entirely. His actions had put Gil directly in danger, Gil could die because of him. His mind kept repeating the words over and over again as he desperately tried to stem the blood flow that was soaking the scarf with alarming speed. He’d put Gil through so much the last ten years, he was practically the reason for the man’s every gray hair. Emotions waged war in his chest like a mighty army on the battlefield, clashing between guilt and anguish. He’d done this, the most important person in his life was going to die and it would be his fault.   
  
“Jesus,” JT’s deep voice startled Malcolm as he and Dani arrived in the alley, their eyes wide as they watched the pale-faced Malcolm Bright trying desperately to save the man they all loved like a father. When Malcolm looked up his face was covered in tears, he looked wrecked.  
  
Something deep inside JT’s gut twisted like an out of control car on black ice, he’d be damned if he was going to let the kid believe this was his fault because everything in those pale blue eyes screamed ‘I’m at fault’.   
  
“S’ my fault,” Malcolm kept murmuring as both Dani and JT joined him on the ground next to Gil, Dani at the man’s head, JT trying to see if he could help Malcolm. JT could see that Malcolm was trembling, which was likely making it harder to keep pressure on the wound. The detective knew from combat that getting shot and falling backward was better for the victim then falling forward, if the bullet didn’t go clean through, then it was at least lodged in there stemming some of the blood flow. It wasn’t a huge comfort, but it was a good start.   
  
Gil’s deep brown eyes contrasted against his sickly graying skin as they struggled to stay open as he looked up at Dani, then across his body at his boys. “We get him?”  
  
JT looked over at the suspect that was now being handcuffed by some uni’s and carted to the patrol car. “Yeah boss, we got ‘em,” JT soothed. He saw the ambulance come to a screeching halt at the end of the alley and he stood, his own hands caked with blood. Years of military training kicked in and he rattled off as much information as he could as he moved out of the way so they could get to Gil. “Victim is Lt. Gil Arroyo, age 52, bullet wound to the upper abdomen lower chest.”  
  
One of the medics took Dani’s place at his head while the other knelt down beside Gil. “Sir, we need to have access to the patient,” the man, a forty-something man with jet black hair of Asian decent encouraged as he tried to catch Malcolm’s eye. Malcolm wasn’t having it, it looked as though he was in as much danger of going into shock as Gil.   
  
JT stepped forward, well aware that even Dani was struggling to stay coherent from surprise, he reached down and gently grabbed Malcolm’s shoulder, “Come on Bright.” He pulled harder than he intended, but it ultimately got the younger cop out of the way. Malcolm stumbled back, hands out in front of him as he stared at the blood. JT knew no matter how much the kid washed his hands later, he’d never stop seeing that blood.   
  
“He…he…” Malcolm’s hands shook as he looked down at the blood soaking his hands, fingernails and coat sleeves. Nausea welled up in his stomach, his eyes burning with unshed tears and instantly turned and vomited in a nearby corner.  
  
“I’ll go with Gil,” Dani assured as she followed the medics who now have Gil loaded on a backboard and gurney and strapped in. JT just gave her a solemn nod, Malcolm would only be in the way if he went with the medics.  
  
JT’s eyes fell on the puddle of blood that had soaked into the ground beneath their boss. He tried not to imagine all the potential damage it had done to their boss. He’d seen many wounds like that in the Army and very few of them had had a happy ending. Taking a slow, but shaky breath, shakier than he cared to admit, he turned to look at Malcolm who was now leaning against the brick wall, hands on his knees desperately trying to pull air into his own lungs.  
  
JT had never been a touchy-feely guy that just wasn’t who he was. He’d been raised by a single mom and granted she’d been a loving mom, she also hadn’t been touchy-feely, JT always assumed it was because she’d been raising boys and knew how this world saw black men. She’d prepared them for a life of potential struggle while still teaching calm compassion. JT wasn’t like Bright, he didn’t wear some of his bigger emotions on his sleeve, but that didn’t mean JT still didn’t have those feelings.  
  
Right now, the biggest feeling JT was having was fear for one of the few men in his life who’d shown him what a father looked like, fear that he was about to lose the only man he’d ever loved like a father and JT wasn’t afraid to admit that idea scared the hell out of him. The next biggest feeling, once you got past the giant neon sign of FEAR in his brain, was something he didn’t recognize as easily. Initially, he might have labeled it as compassion, but that didn’t seem right. He wasn’t angry at Malcolm’s actions, though he had every right to be. It was a different churning deep in his gut that wanted to make Malcolm feel better.   
  
His brain stuttered to a halt, like a gears grinding to a stop – when had Bright become Malcolm? Shaking his head, JT moved forward, reaching out the same hand he’d grabbed Bright with earlier, and gripped his shoulder, this time in show of support, rather than desperation to move him.  
  
Bloodshot blue eyes looked up at him, tear tracks etched into his cheeks, and more willing to replace the fallen ones. Malcolm Bright looked wrecked. “Come on, kid. Let’s go to the hospital,” he encouraged. A small part of JT was screaming to reassure the man, to tell him everything was going to be fine. Truth was, though, JT didn’t know that and for once he couldn’t offer platitudes he didn’t believe in. All he could do was silently promise to take care of Malcolm until Gil was okay.  
  
The car ride to the hospital was agonizingly quiet, Bright sat in the passenger’s seat, woefully compliant and unflinching. Staring down at the now rust-brown color on his hands. JT would glance over at him once in a while, to make sure the kid was still breathing.   
  
When they did finally arrive at the hospital and park, Malcolm started to make his way to the emergency waiting room. Once more, like the big brother he was, JT gripped his upper arm and gently pulled him from the hall. “Come on kid, let’s get you clean up, you’ll scare the hell out of everyone if you go in looking like that,” compassion that Malcolm is surprised to hear lining JT’s tone as he gently leads the younger man to a nearby restroom.  
  
Stepping into the bathroom, his eyes quickly assessed the space to determine that it was indeed empty and he flipped the deadbolt to keep it looked, giving Bright some needed privacy. JT stayed by the sink, wanting to let the kid have some space. He watched as Malcolm moved robotically toward the sink, staring down at his coated hands.  
  
Malcolm stared down at the blood on his hands and couldn’t stop the overwhelming voices telling him this was all his fault. Shaky hands reached out to turn on the water, letting it get hot before he slowly put his fingers under the water. He watched the pink swirl around and down the drain for a few mesmerizing seconds. The voice in his head growing louder, screaming at him, telling him this was he’d done this. After everything Gil had done for him, all the time and love and energy Gil had thanklessly poured into Malcolm and this was how the kid repaid him. By killing him, putting a bullet in him, instead of letting his father dissect him. He looked up at the mirror, eyes widening when he saw his father standing behind him grinning, “Just like your old’ dad after all,” he beamed.   
  
Malcolm wasn’t even aware he screamed and lashed out until he felt two beefy arms wrap around him and yank him back against a sturdy weight.  
  
JT watched the kid stand there, just letting the hot water turn his hands redder and redder with each second. He wasn’t expecting the guttural scream Malcolm let out, nor was he expecting one of the hands to clench into a tight fist and lash out at the mirror above the sink. Muttering a quick curse, JT sprang forward and wrapped one arm around JT’s shoulders and chest, and the other around his midsection, before he pulled the kid back against his bulky build, keeping him from taking a second swing at the innocent mirror above the sink.   
  
Malcolm let out another scream, this time quieter but no less angry, no less filled with heartache and rage over what had just happened. Another small cry and JT felt the kid’s body grow limp like a ragdoll as they both slid to the floor, JT supporting the majority of Malcolm’s weight.  
  
For once, JT let the papa bear instinct he rarely showed, out, he turned Malcolm to his side and pulled the kid tight to his chest. Malcolm instantly took it, burying his face in JT’s neck and letting out another small sob of agony. His whole body shook with sobs as JT just clung tight to him. He let his hand rest against Malcolm’s head, murmuring soft assurances to the kid that it’d be okay.  
  
If anyone asked JT later, he’d deny every ounce of compassion he had, as well as his ability to comfort. He was a guy, and guys didn’t hold other guys in the bathroom while they both silently feared for the life of a close friend.  
  
JT was well aware that Dani knew where they were, he felt his phone pinging every few seconds in his pocket. But he maintained his focus on the man sobbing in his arms. The sobs had eventually died down, Malcolm’s body still shook occasionally. JT could see blood oozing from where he’d punched the mirror and he knew he needed to take care of that next.  
  
“Okay, let’s get up,” he encouraged as he slowly helped the kid get to his feet, albeit wobbling a bit. JT pulled out his cell, sending off two quick text messages. The first to Dani telling him they had a little mishap in the bathroom and would take a little longer to get to the waiting room. Dani immediately texted back assuring him that there was no news on their boss. The second message was to a familiar face that he knew could handle this situation better than him.  
  
He then unlocked the door to the bathroom, and as if she’d been called down by a single text message, a woman in her mid to late fifties stood just outside the bathroom in a pair of dark purple scrubs that beautifully accentuated the dark tone of her skin, and pepper colored hair, calmly waiting. “Dear Lord, he looks like he lost a battle with a bear,” she shooed JT’s hands away and gently wrapped a strong arm around Malcolm’s narrow and thin shoulders. “Do you eat, good grief, bring you to my house, fatten you up some,” she huffed as she led the two men into an exam room.  
  
JT watched silently as she bustled about the room grabbing supplies, and manhandling Malcolm onto the bed. The brilliant man was pliant, which was more than a little concerning to JT. But he remained quiet and stoic by the door as if guarding the kid from any further harm.  
  
“Right, baby, I’m gonna need some sort of verbal confirm that you’re alive in there,” she encouraged, gently rubbing the top of Malcolm’s uninjured hand.  
  
Blue eyes finally, finally shifted over to meet her chocolate brown ones. He studied her in confusion for a moment, then his eyes swung back to JT. The older detective saw it the second Malcolm’s brilliant brain made the connection as eyes widened to see the whites. “Oh my god, you have a mother?” He asked, his voice husky and raw from crying.  
  
“No dumb- I was born under a rock. Of course, I got a momma,” JT snapped, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.  
  
The look his momma shot him was withering, “That is no way to speak to a patient, especially one who’s been through such a shock. Now, baby, I want you to take a few deep breaths for me, can you do that?” she encouraged as she rubbed Malcolm’s arm while holding his good hand.  
  
“You’re a lot nicer than him,” Malcolm said pointing to JT with his injured hand.  
  
She hummed, “That’s what I get for raising an Army brat,” she explained. “Now sit still and let me see that hand.” She grabbed a squeezing bottle that she used to wet down a piece of gauze, and Malcolm watched as she gently began to wipe away the blood from his hands, his and Gil’s.  
  
Gil—Malcolm felt his stomach churn again, his hands started trembling again before he could spiral back down, he felt a hand on his chin, looking back up into the woman’s soulful eyes. “None of that, now. I used to tell my boys, ‘no point in borrowing trouble you don’t want’.” She whispered, her thumb trailing over Malcolm’s sharp cheekbone. “Jay, come over here and help me clean him up,” she ordered.  
  
“Jay, is that his real name?”  
  
“No—“  
  
“Momma,” JT warned, shaking his head as he moved over and accepted the cloth to wipe away the remaining blood. He reached out with more care than Malcolm knew him capable of, and gently began to clean away the remainder of Gil’s blood.   
  
Malcolm looked between son and mother, “Why won’t you tell me?” He asked, desperate to keep his mind away from Gil.   
  
JT had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking, “Can’t tell you everythin’, then who’d pester me.” He tossed the now brownish red piece of cloth in the trash and started with a new one until Malcolm’s hands were mostly clean and his mother had bandaged the worst of the cuts.  
  
“Will he survive?” Malcolm finally asked after several long minutes of silence. JT went quiet and looked to his mother.  
  
JT’s mother, on the other hand, smiled, as she pushed the tray to the side and sat down on the bed beside him, “You know when JT was a little boy, we went to church more frequently than he does these days.”  
  
“Why’re you tellin’ him this?” JT huffed.   
  
“Hush, I assume he stopped going because he got tired of the church telling him who he could and couldn’t love—“  
  
“Oh my god,” JT mumbled rubbing at his temples with his fingers and thumb.  
  
She waved her son off, “Anyway when he was a little boy, mind you, he was still a brick wall of a boy, he lost his father and I remember him asking me what kept his father alive as long as he did. Cancer took him.”  
  
“What did you say?” Malcolm asked her, watching the beautiful woman.  
  
She smiled and pulled Malcolm into a one-armed hug and looked up at her son, “What did I tell you?”  
  
“That when someone has a reason to hold on, they will hold on as long as they can,” JT replied with a small smile on his poker face.  
  
“I don’t know Gil well, but I do know from JT that Gil loves you like a son. And I can tell you, as the mother of not just one boy, but two, I’d do anything to stay with them as long as I could. I think Gil will do the same, baby.” She answered, rubbing a hand up and down Malcolm’s arm.  
  
“I like you,” Malcolm whispered honestly from where his head was now resting on her shoulder.  
  
She chuckled a deep chuckle, “Well I like you too. Now, you and my boy go wait for your friend.”   
  
Malcolm nodded, letting JT guide him out of the room. “Your mom is really nice,” Malcolm said, sounding like a little boy.   
  
JT smiled, “I know.”   
  
They joined Dani and several other officers who’d arrived to show their support, in the waiting room. Malcolm was well aware of the stares he received as he was seated between Dani and JT, ensconced by their protective attitudes.   
  
Malcolm wasn’t sure how long they sat there, listening to the ticking of the wall clock and the occasional chatter of the ebb and flow of the waiting room. More than once, JT had nudged Malcolm’s knee when it looked like the man was getting lost in his usual self-destructive thoughts. At some point, Dani had pressed a sugary coffee and some sugary piece of food into his shaking hands and told to eat.   
  
“Malcolm Bright?” a voice called. Malcolm stood so quickly he nearly knocked over the table in front of their chairs.   
  
“That’s me.”   
  
“You’re Detective Arroyo’s emergency contact, we have a status on him.”   
  
Malcolm looked at JT and Dani, “We’re all a part of his team can they come. I’m sure he won’t mind,” he managed to form a coherent sentence despite feeling like he was going to pass out from fear.   
  
“Of course follow me,” she led them away from the rest of the waiting room into a small room off of one hallway. Immediately Malcolm’s brain assumed the worst, they were about to tell him Gil was dead. That’s what rooms like this were for, so that loved ones could mourn privately. He was Gil’s only remaining loved one. He felt his chest tighten, his vision was growing hazy as he tried to find somewhere to sit.   
  
“Is he all right?” Malcolm vaguely registered the question as he felt strong hands gripping his arms one more.   
  
He didn’t hear the response, instead, he just felt himself being pressed into a cool faux leather couch. JT knelt before Malcolm, “Hey, kid, I need you to stay with me. You’re not going to be any good to Gil if you pass on on him.”   
  
“He’s dead, they only bring people in this room--”   
  
“I assure you, Mr. Bright when I left Mr. Arroyo ten minutes ago, he was very much alive. We just take HIPPA very seriously here. A doctor will be with you momentarily,” the nurse assured with a warm smile, before stepping out of the small room.   
  
JT sank down on the couch next to Malcolm, his weight puffing Malcolm’s seat up slightly. JT reached out and gently touched Malcolm’s arm, “I know you’re scared, I know you’re on the edge of panic mode, but I need you to hold it together a little longer, okay?” JT encouraged, his tone was one he usually used on children. In this case, though he supposed Malcolm was a child, he was a terrified ten-year-old boy who was scared out of his mind to lose another father.   
  
“What if he can’t forgive me,” Malcolm whispered.   
  
Even Dani’s eyebrows shot up at that question as she pulled a chair over and sat on Malcolm’s other side, “Bright, you didn’t do anything.”   
  
“He was shot because of me,” Malcolm murmured.   
  
JT shook his head, “No, he was saved because of you. Don’t take on guilt that isn’t yours, man. Trust me, Gil loves you, he forgave you before he ever even got shot.”   
  
“I can’t...I can’t do this without him,” Malcolm whispered burying his face in his hands. He didn’t want to lose it further in front of his coworkers, but he did trust Dani and JT.   
  
JT reached across Malcolm’s back and rubbed his hand up and down the man’s thin spine, feeling each of the bones, “No one says you have to. We’re a family now, remember. You aren’t alone anymore.”   
  
A knock on the door interrupted any further discussion and a middle-aged woman with black hair pulled back in a bun stepped into the room, “You must be Mr. Arroyo’s team, I’m Dr. Leah Marks, I was Mr. Arroyo’s surgeon today.”   
  
“How is he?” Malcolm asked.   
  
The woman took a seat in another chair across from Malcolm, crossing one long leg over another, “Well, he was seriously wounded, the bullet broke apart upon impact with one of his ribs, so we had to pick out the fragments, and wired that rib together for it to heal. Thankfully hitting his ribcage slowed the bullet down, so what could’ve been vital damage to his lungs and aorta ended up far easier to fix than we originally expected. He came through surgery exceptionally well, and while we do have him on a ventilator now just to take some strain off his lungs and heart, I don’t expect we’ll keep him sedated past tonight or tomorrow morning.”   
  
“So he’ll live?” Malcolm clarified.   
  
“He’s older obviously, but as far as I can tell he was in relatively good shape for a man of his age, that helped a great deal. He’s certainly a fighter, he’ll be sore for some time and he may need someone to stay with him when he first goes home, but as long as there are no unforeseen complications in the next twelve hours, I expect he’ll make a full recovery.”   
  
Malcolm let out a shaky sigh of relief, his face going back into his hands while Dani just gave JT a small relieved smile. “Could we see him?”   
  
“Of course, he’s in the ICU for now, just as a precaution because he came out of surgery and he’s on a ventilator. So only two people at a time. We’re going to keep an eye on him for the next few hours and if he shows the first signs of waking we’ll probably remove the machine tonight and move him by morning.”   
  
“Thank you, doctor,” Dani said standing as she shook the doctor’s hand. JT and Malcolm followed suit and soon they were following the doctor to the private room in the ICU. Despite her words, Malcolm couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of fear as he grew closer and closer to the room. A window allowed for the nurses to see in and out of most of the rooms, a wood door was propped open so Dani stepped in first.   
Malcolm found himself unable to move as he stood there, while JT stepped inside as well. Several machines were hooked up to Gil, the ventilator, as mentioned, came out of his mouth via a tube, that was taped to his cheek, a heart and bp monitor on one side, with a cuff that would tighten every five or ten minutes. A pulse-ox on one of his fingers, many other tubes to give Gil fluids and likely a blood transfusion.   
  
It all felt weighty as Malcolm just stared at it, the earlier sensation of relief seemed to be flying out the door with every hiss of the ventilator and beep of the heart monitor. It felt like someone was tightening a vise around Malcolm’s chest, as he desperately tried to breathe in through his mouth and out through his nose.   
  
It didn’t help, he felt his feet stumble away from the room and back against a wall, sliding down into a position with his knees drawn up to his chest, Malcolm struggled to control the panic attack that was encroaching on him with each passing second. A lack of oxygen to his brain was starting to cause his vision to blacken, he knew if he didn’t get control soon, he’d blackout. But it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that man lying on that bed across the hall.   
  
“Fuck,” Malcolm whispered as a sob was wrenched from his lungs, and pulled from his chest as if someone was yanking on a cord. And then another, and another, before he buried his face in his knees before finally letting the darkness take him under.   
  
JT glanced over his shoulder when Dani mentioned letting Malcolm come in, only to realize Bright wasn’t standing nearby anymore, brows furrowing, he took two long strides into the doorway and saw Malcolm had collapsed sideways down the hall. It looked like he’d tried to brace himself on the wall, and had been sitting because JT didn’t see any more damage, other than what had happened earlier. But there was no question the kid was unconscious. Reaching down he pressed two fingers to the pulse point in Malcolm’s neck and sighed. The heart rate was alarmingly fast, but already starting to show signs of dropping, sweat that had formed on Malcolm’s forehead as slowly drying and his chest which had likely been heaving was slowing down. The kid had had a panic attack.   
  
“Sir, do you need assistance?” a nurse asked spotting them in the hallway.   
  
“Nah, we’re good, I think he’s just passed out from being overwhelmed,” JT offered. Losing consciousness during a panic attack was your body’s last line of defense against oxygen deprivation. It wasn’t an ideal solution, and it certainly wasn’t healthy for Malcolm, but it had clearly done the job because the young profiler was now lying on the cold linoleum regaining a little color in his cheeks and blue eyes fluttering open.   
  
Malcolm groaned in shame as JT helped him sit up, “I passed out?”   
  
“Looks like you worked yourself into quite the state. Want to go see Gil?”   
  
Malcolm shook his head, “I don’t think I can yet,” he whispered.   
  
JT wanted to argue, tell him that Gil was going to want Malcolm at his bedside when he woke, but nothing he said or did would convince the younger man. “Okay, don’t take too long,” JT encouraged as he stood and headed back into the hospital room.   
  
Malcolm glanced around, with shame in his eyes and reddening his cheeks, he managed to stand and walked away from the hospital room, and ultimately the hospital. It was two days and several hours later that Malcolm was lying on his bed miserably staring at the wall, trying to figure out how he could run away without anyone ever finding him when he heard a knock on the door.   
  
He hesitated for a beat, it could be Dani or JT, but he assumed they were still busy with Gil. They’d texted him daily with updates and words of encouragement, between comments and questions about his whereabouts. Ultimately, Malcolm decided to remain silent. If it was anyone important they had a key. Anyone else could go away.   
  
A second knock echoed through his apartment and sunshine twittered at him, but he remained still. Until he heard the familiar sound of a key in a lock and a door being pushed open. He heard a whisper and then nothing as the door shut.   
  
Gil stepped into his kid’s apartment, after assuring JT that he’d be fine and to give him twenty minutes. He walked up the stairs and around the corner to see his kid lying on his bed in sweats and a t-shirt, both of which didn’t look clean, staring at the opposite wall.   
  
Gil’s first instinct when he’d woken had been fear, where was his kid. Why wasn’t Malcolm there? That was replaced quickly by concern and a little hurt once JT explained why he believed Malcolm was staying away. The detective improved quickly and followed all the rules. All except one, he was due to go home with no one there to assist him, he knew, of course, Dani and JT would step in. But Gil kind of had his hopes set on someone else. Standing there now, hands stuffed into his pocket of a worn pair of slacks and one of his button-ups because raising his arms was out of the question, he studied the younger man facing away from him.   
  
“Guilt is a powerful emotion,” Gil finally spoke as he continued moving forward. He saw the back facing him stiffen, whether, in surprise or something else, he wasn’t sure. He continued on, he came to the side of the bed Malcolm was facing and sat at the end, down by the man’s feet. “I’ve seen it build and destroy relationships.” He looked over, unsurprised to see the blue eyes refusing to meet his. “Malcolm, I’ve known you for nearly twenty-one years kid--”  
  
“I’m not your kid,” Malcolm replied, his heartbreaking at the words, but desperation to put some distance between this man and himself was winning. He couldn’t watch him get hurt again, couldn’t watch him die.   
  
Gil bit the inside of his cheek and let out a small sigh, anything larger than that would hurt. “You’re right, you’re not. Maybe I’ve been stupid trying to treat you like it over the last twenty years but forgive a man for being so foolish. Misplaced guilt I suppose, I am the one who destroyed your family.”   
  
Malcolm’s head whipped to look at Gil’s, and the older detective gave himself a mental pat on the back for profiling the profiler. “I called the cops on him, I turned him in, I’m obviously the one who destroyed the family,” Malcolm replied, ferocity and protectiveness lining his tone. An immovable force before Gil, who was trying not to smile.   
  
“You’re right, of course,” Gil replied softly, “And naturally, it was Jackie’s fault she died that night in the car.”   
  
“Gil--” Malcolm began to cut the man off, preparing to deny the very basis of such an accusation.   
  
“Oh I know, she wasn’t the drunk driver, but she was the one leaving the museum late that night, so I mean obviously if we’re going by your logic, it’s her fault.”   
  
“Gil--”   
  
Gil continued on, unfettered, “And I’m the one who put you on this assignment, so obviously it’s my fault I was shot.”   
  
“I ran off! Without backup, again! How could it possibly have been your fault!?” Malcolm’s quiet explosion was telling all the same. The younger man had never been much of a yeller unless it was mid nightmare.   
  
“Well it certainly wasn’t your fault,” Gil reasoned finally catching the blue eyes in his gaze.   
  
“Gil--”   
  
Gil held up his hand, “Let me stop you right there, kid. You’re right, you aren’t my son. Biologically, Jackie and I never had children. But the day I met you, you saved me, and by extension her and our marriage by just existing. You’re right, you turned in your real father just to save the life of a man you’d never met. You gave up everything, your safety, and security, hell your sanity, just to ensure others lived. That I lived. So no, you aren’t my son biologically, but then you and I both know that family doesn’t always mean blood, does it.” When Malcolm went to duck his head, Gil reached out and grabbed it, gently yanking the chin back up. “You did not pull the trigger of that gun, but you did tackle the man with the gun to the ground, keeping me from being killed. You did not cause this to happen by running off, yes maybe you should’ve waited, but who knows who could’ve run into that alley instead of us and likely would be dead. So don’t you dare sit here and tell me that this is all your fault, you can’t carry the whole world’s guilt on your back, Malcolm. No one can.”   
  
Malcolm was silent for a few minutes after Gil’s short rant, considering the man’s words. His eyes burned with tears, his heart throbbing in his chest and his voice aching to be heard, “I...Gil...when I saw you,” Malcolm stopped short, closing his eyes to wash away the memory, but it didn’t work, instead he saw the image once again.   
  
A warm hand pressed against his cheek, and instead of Gil’s unconscious body being kept alive by machines or bleeding out on the ground, Malcolm opened his eyes to see familiar chocolate brown eyes staring at him with an emotion that left Malcolm nothing short of breathless. “I’m alive, son. I’m alive and though a little worse for the wear, I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”   
  
“I don’t know what I’d have done,” Malcolm choked.   
  
Gil let his hand drop to Malcolm’s shoulder and yanked the kid forward as hard as he dared, wrapping his arms around the boy. “You don’t think I feel the same way, every time you take off without thinking,” he murmured. “Don’t you think Jackie, Jessica and I all felt that way when you were sworn into the FBI. That’s what love is, Malcolm. It’s the unadulterated fear that the people you love most in the world are going to die someday and you’re going to have to live without them. But tell me, after living ten years without it, would you really rather go at this alone again, or do you think maybe having those people you love, is worth all the fear and heartache?”   
  
Malcolm tucked his head against Gil’s neck and shoulder, just nodding, “I love you,” Malcolm mumbled between crying.   
  
“Me too, kid, me too,” Gil replied softly, running his hand through Malcolm’s hair. 

End


End file.
